


Difficult to say out loud

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Song referenced: No Rain by Blind Melonvideo - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3qVPNONdF58Otherwise referred to as the song with the little girl dancing in a bee costume





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Very Long Six Weeks (When It's Right, It's Right Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8483725) by [amindamazed (hophophop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hophophop/pseuds/amindamazed). 



> Song referenced: No Rain by Blind Melon  
> video - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3qVPNONdF58  
> Otherwise referred to as the song with the little girl dancing in a bee costume

"Why exactly am I part of this?" Joan squinted in the autumn sunlight. 

"Because they insisted." Sherlock shrugged. "They won't give me the link unless you participate in the ... uhm .... punishment."

"Punishment?" Her voice registered her displeasure.

"For lack of a better word, yes. I suppose we could call it a trade or an exchange of services for goods." Sherlock's matter of fact description only deepened her apprehension. Murderers she could face with relative ease; computer whiz kids with overactive imaginations worried her. 

Everyone had been quite specific: The brownstone's back garden gate was to be unlocked at 3:07, Joan and Sherlock were to stand, side by side, in the middle of their small block patio, facing the kitchen windows.... and wait.

A stack of towels sat on the old iron chair by the dead rose bush.

"Why the towels?" Joan asked.

"Don't know. They just told me to make sure we had plenty on hand." He bounced and stole a glance at the back gate and then at her. "They assured me you would not be harmed."

The squeak of the gate's rusty hinges stopped their conversation. A girl, who Joan thought looked barely twelve, walked in carrying a phone aimed at them. She assumed the girl was recording the event for future broadcast. 

"Please close your eyes and stay still until we tell you otherwise." The childlike quality of the girl's voice imbued the statement with a sinister tone. Sherlock swayed in a little closer to his partner, not quite touching, but close enough to provide reassurance. 

They did as told, closed their eyes and waited. Within seconds they heard the scuffling of other feet entering the area, at least two more, heavier and taller people. They stood behind Joan and Sherlock and sang off-key, in unison:

"All I can say  
Is that my life is pretty plain  
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain

And all I can do  
Is just pour some tea for two  
And speak my point of view

But it's not sane,  
It's not sane....."

At the end of the serenade, something was dumped onto their heads. It didn't take either detective very long to realize what the "something" was. Honey - dumped on their heads as quickly as one can dump honey.

Joan reacted with a guttural noise and a shudder; Sherlock, a seasoned pro at these type of things, stood still and waited.

Laughter, the click of phone cameras and the sound of sneakered feet in fast retreat followed. Joan opened her eyes and with the heel of her hand attempted to brush back the honey that was oozing down her forehead. She turned an irate eye at Sherlock who was unsuccessfully swiping at his own honey-drizzled face.

Sherlock licked his fingers. "Lower grade commercial honey. They could at least have supported one of the local keepers, although it would have been a tremendous waste of good honey I suppose..." He stopped talking upon catching sight of the look on his partner's face.

Joan glared at him, "My mistake was not running away from you the minute I met you." She pushed a strand of sticky hair away from her face. The honey continued its slow amble down her hair en route to her neck and shoulders. 

Sherlock moved to the old chair, sorting through the towels as he spoke. "Come now, Watson, you could no more leave me than I could leave you." He chose a small hand towel and turned back to her. "Close your eyes." She complied and he attempted to clear her features of some of the sticky mess. "Admit it, we are stuck, no pun intended. How many times have we, literally and figuratively, tried to sever ties with each other, hmm? And yet here we are." 

Joan opened her eyes onto his honey-splotched face. She took the towel from his hand, folded it back to find a clean spot and wiped up at a long drip of amber that was making its way down his neck. "You think we've stuck it out this long 'cause we have no other choice? That we are bound together against our wills?"

Sherlock stopped her hand wiping at his face. "You know that's not what I meant at all." His eyes bore into hers and she quietly matched his stare.

He took the small towel from her hand and handed her a larger towel. "Take off your jacket and wrap your hair in this; we'll get you inside to wash some of that out." He took off his own jacket, dropped it to the ground and grabbed the remaining towels as they went inside. 

 

Without a word, he turned the water on in the kitchen sink. Joan took the towel off her head and grimaced; her hair splayed out in a tangled mess. Sherlock did his best not to react to the ridiculous sight.

Joan noticed and smirked. "I know. It's bad. But for the record, you look equally as laughable." Tufts of honey-stiffened hair crowned his head.

She washed her face and then bent her head down under the warm water, flipping her hair forward.

"May I be of assistance?" Sherlock hovered, waiting for permission.

"Yes, please." The task was too much for one pair of hands. "Use the dish soap - I'll wash it properly once the honey is out."

Sherlock moved in close and pushed his fingers into the long stuck strands of dark hair, lathering in the lemon scented soap and rinsing away the honey. This level closeness remained a rarity between them, unless it was for a useful purpose - this, he told himself, was for a useful purpose.

As he worked, he started talking, almost distractedly, picking up their conversation from the garden. "We were fortunate, you and I, Watson, very fortunate. I think we were akin to two very rare, almost extinct species of bird who against great odds found each other. While we share many qualities with the other avians in our environment, you and I are different." Sherlock grew silent for a few seconds before continuing in a more intimate tone, "Having you in my life has changed it irrevocably for the better .... You've brought a wholeness I didn't think possible .... a feeling I have no name for .... I will never willingly leave you again ..."

His voice was barely audible over the swishing of the water. Joan was glad her face was hidden from him. The strength of her emotions stopped all her words and lumped them together in her throat. She said nothing. Instead, she reached for a clean towel, draped it over her head and blotted the water from her hair. Sherlock feeling rather foolish, turned off the water and stepped back, finding a spot on the floor that required his attention.

Joan eventually dropped the towel to her shoulders. Clearing her throat, she motioned at his face and hair, "You should wash that off ...."

"Mmm." He nodded, relieved for an excuse to not face her. He squeezed some of the dish soap into his hands and lathered.

Joan watched him, looking rather vulnerable, bend into the sink, move his head beneath the water's flow and start washing. She moved closer to him. Tentatively, she placed her hand onto his head, fingers gingerly weaving through his hair.

At first surprised and then with relief, Sherlock's hands gave way to hers and he allowed her to continue. 

Her fingers massaged his scalp in small circles, raked the lemony suds and water through his hair, soothing it back and forth and back again. The movement became almost a caress, producing a trance-like sense of peace between them for a moment or two.

The honey gone, Joan gave his neck a rinse, squeezed the last remnants of water from his hair and turned the faucet off. Sherlock, eyes closed and trying to gain control of himself, remained bent into the sink, motionless. She took the towel from her shoulders and placed it on his head, rubbing briskly to dry the drips. His head still bent forward, she moved her face close to his, "I'm here because I want to be ... here ... with you." Her lips moved close to his ear, and whispered words meant only for him to hear. Sherlock breathed in and nodded his understanding of her words. The moment held them close, their heads came together, lightly touching. 

The vibration of his phone against the kitchen counter signaling a text snapped both back into their professional personas. 

Sherlock stood up and reached for his phone. "Everyone has delivered the link as promised!" He scrolled through the text excitedly.

Joan took the towel back from his neck. "Good. I'll take a quick shower while you work on that." She moved towards the stairs.

"Meet me in the media room. There are video links here."

"Alright, but change your shirt before you head upstairs." 

"Yes, dear," he drawled the word out in his best mocking American accent.

Joan rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Why do I put up with you?" Her close-lipped smile sweetened the words and he couldn't help but return it.


End file.
